song Fauc1 First. [Chorus. Endymion. Luna.] Chorus. Th’ Astrologers own Eyes are set,

The forward youth that would appea… Must now forsake his Muses dear, Nor in the shadows sing His numbers languishing. ’Tis time to leave the books in du…

That Providence which had so long… Of Cromwell’s head, and numbred e… Now in its self (the Glass where… Had seen the period of his golden… And thenceforth onely did attend t…

Ingeniosa Viris contingunt Nomina… Ut dubites Casu vel Ratione data. Nam Sors, caeca licet, tamen est… Et sub fatidico Nomine vera premi… Et Tu, cui soli voluit Respublica…

How wisely Nature did decree, With the same Eyes to weep and se… That, having view’d the object vai… They might be ready to complain. And since the Self-deluding Sight…

See how the Orient Dew, Shed from the Bosom of the Morn Into the blowing Roses, Yet careless of its Mansion new; For the clear Region where ’twas…

My Love is of a birth as rare As ’tis for object strange and hig… It was begotten by despair Upon Impossibility. Magnanimous Despair alone.

Ye living lamps, by whose dear lig… The nightingale does sit so late, And studying all the summer night, Her matchless songs does meditate; Ye county comets, that portend

After two sittings, now our Lady… To end her picture does the third… But ere thou fall’st to work, firs… If’t ben’t too slight grown or too… Canst thou paint without colors?…

Come little Infant, Love me now, While thine unsuspected years Clear thine aged Fathers brow From cold Jealousie and Fears. Pretty surely ’twere to see

Enough; and leave the rest to Fam… ’Tis to commend her, but to name. Courtship which, living, she decli… When dead, to offer were unkind: Nor can the truest wit, or friend,

Oblig’d by frequent visits of this… Whom as Priest, Poet, and Musici… I for some branch of Melchizedeck… (Though he derives himself from my… I sought his Lodging; which is at…

My Mind was once the true survey Of all these Medows fresh and gay… And in the greenness of the Grass Did see its Hopes as in a Glass; When Juliana came, and she

Like the vain curlings of the wate… Which in smooth streams a sinking… So Man, declining always, disappe… In the weak circles of increasing… And his short tumults of themselve…

The wanton troopers riding by Have shot my fawn, and it will die… Ungentle men! They cannot thrive To kill thee. Thou ne’er didst, a… Them any harm: alas nor could